Michèle Aoun

For someone born and raised in Lebanon, the most constant feeling I’ve known is contradiction: the quiet stillness of daily life, suddenly shattered by overwhelming complexity. Beauty and chaos unfolding in the same breath.

In Lebanon, the two are inseparable. The most breathtaking sunsets don’t just light up the skies of Batroun or the Qadisha Valley—they appear above crumbling buildings, framed by broken balconies and power lines. Disruption is our norm. Life is punctuated by power cuts, suffocating traffic, or the distant sound of bombs—gifts from our neighbors. Sticking to a plan is almost impossible. And yet, there’s laughter at weddings held just days after tragedies, and mourning woven into the fabric of our mornings, like background noise.